


more time

by bi_magic



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/M, hope this is enjoyable for anyone who reads it !!, this was written for day 1 of wondertrev week for which the prompt was reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:26:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11597766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_magic/pseuds/bi_magic
Summary: diana has been in love with a grave for a century; until suddenly, he grows limbs and walks back into her life.





	more time

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for day 1 of wondertrev week on tumblr. the prompt was reincarnation. enjoy <3

it happens in 2017, right beside the glass triangle of the louvre in paris.

she walks, the way she always does, a woman who has embraced the weight her shoulders are bound to bear. the sun is soft today. the sun is hardly ever soft. perhaps she should have known. somehow.

she walks, and nothing seems unusual. she walks, smiles at strangers who happen to catch her eye. she walks, and, too busy waving at a little girl with dark braids holding a lollipop, she doesn't notice the man walking in the opposite direction until he is far too close.

and she stops walking. 

diana freezes on the spot, as though she had grown roots. every muscle in her clenches, and, eyes wide, she wants to turn and stare, but she cannot move.

this cannot be.

but it is, it is - how could it be anyone else? she has long passed that horrid stage of grief - there was a time when she saw him everywhere. once, with every turn of diana's head, there he was - steve, her steve, who had died because he was too good for the wretched world they had both been so hellbent on saving. but that was a long, long time ago. it's over now. could this man truly just be so similar to him?

"steve..." the name falls from her mouth in a breath, the taste of it so odd on her tongue after years of not being spoken. this slight twitch of her lips, hardly speaking at all, is the only movement she is able to make for several moments. the man has passed her already. she contemplates.

and then she's after him. a few strides on long legs, and her hand touches his shoulder. he turns.

all the breath is knocked out of her lungs as though with a hammer. it's him, it's really him, her steve - she would never, if the world ends, forget him. his... everything. eyes and mouth and jaw and shoulders. everything. ever so above average. diana wants to smile. she can't.

she tries to speak. every breath is stolen from her. keeps trying. he stares like she's an oddity. maybe she is. maybe a woman so in love, after more than a century, is truly an oddity.

"bonjour, monsieur, comment tu-t'appelles?" she manages, french flowing from her mouth first.  
"uh, I'm steve, and I really - can't speak french, so -"  
his voice. she hasn't heard it in so long. everything echoes in her ears for a few seconds. ( _I wish we had more time. I love you_.)  
"oh! that's - that's okay," she swallows, words hardly coming out. steve. he's steve.

she's tried to hold on to her self control. she really has, but it's been a hundred years. god, it's been a hundred years. and now he's here. the next thing she knows, she's wrapped her arms around him and put her face in his chest, "I - I thought I'd never see you again."

"I - I'm sorry," he sounds... disturbed, somewhat. she looks up, and the gaze in his eyes is something else. not even when they first met did he look at her like this. like she was a stranger. "do I know you?"

something shatters in her chest.

well, there it is. for all that she's changed and grown, she will always have that innocence. and always will it be her downfall.  
he doesn't know her. her steve, right here before her - and he has absolutely no idea who she is.  
"I -" she can hardly speak, confusion and pain and complete, utter sadness molding into a lump at the base of her throat. it burns like acid. she talks through it. (this may be all she ever gets.) "I suppose you don't." she says. "but if you'd like to... please, give this number a call," and she's already pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and began writing a phone number on it. she finishes off with a whispered, broken "please" as she shoves the note between his fingers and leaves. she walks fast as she goes, hoping that maybe the sun, so soft and kind this morning, will drink her tears. they are too salty for her to bear.

two days later and diana is on the brink of losing hope. she promised herself she never would again, but she is going crazy - seeing her steve, for a mere moment, after so long, and not knowing whether she'll ever get another chance.  
but what could she have done? stood and told this man who doesn't know her about their shared past, about their love, that was great enough to move mountains and drown seas? she couldn't. she couldn't.

just as she sinks into her despair, the phone rings.

"hello?" she picks up without looking, desperate. ever so desperate.  
"um, is this - diana? this is steve, we met - on the street, and..."

"steve!" shooting up from her chair, diana barely succeeds at keeping her voice even. "yes, of course. thank you for calling."

"no problem. so..."  
after inhaling deeply through her nose, trying to remain calm, she realizes he is waiting for her to speak.

all this time, she was so busy praying for his call that she never thought what to say. alright, hello, steve, my name is diana, princess of themyscira, daughter of hippolyta, queen of the amazons. ring any bells? no? well, we saved the world together back at world war one, and we fell in love, too. but then you died. and now you're here. weird, huh?

"do you wanna go out with me?" she blurts out, and the silence on the other side of the line stretches for a moment before... "yeah, okay."

they schedule their date. she hangs up with her hands shaking. her first date with her steve, a century too late. oh, and he also has no idea who she is. a wonderful first date indeed.

that night, they sit down for dinner at her favorite restaurant, somewhat hidden, in a small street in paris. they talk, and every time, world war makes it into the conversation somehow. she can't help it. she has no control of the things that leave her mouth. she lost any ounce of control in her when she saw his face again, days before. she's been spiraling down ever since.

once, she says something about a story she's heard, about a man so brave that he sacrificed himself to save the day. it seems, for the slightest second, as though his eyes are glowing, something akin to recognition within them. but then the moment is over, and he just says: "I wish I could be like that."  
and diana can barely stop herself from saying: you are. you are.

despite the pain, always curling and uncurling in her chest, she enjoys the date. he seems to as well, grinning and laughing. she wants to cry. she smiles through it.

they make plans for a second date. then, a third. by the fifth he's cancelled his flight back home to stay with her, and he is sleeping in the spare room in her apartment.

weeks pass. and then, months. diana slips in clues about their past - but clearly, he is oblivious. and why wouldn't he be? he doesn't remember. he will never remember.

once, he asks her, about the hug she gave him when they first met. how she seemed to know him. she says she'll tell him someday. the sadness in her eyes must be far too easy to drown in, because he lets it go.

she tolerates the pain quietly, for she knows it is worth it; with every day that passes, she knows more surely than ever before that this is her steve. she would know him anywhere, anytime, in any era and any world. and in all of them would she love him.  
and she would rather have this then nothing at all.

one day, diana awakes. it's been months. he sleeps in her bed now. but today, he isn't here.  
maybe it was all a dream, she thinks, fearful, heartbroken. it is too easy to believe such a devastating thing.

she rises from the bed, and several minutes later, she is walking to the kitchen, bare feet silent on the floor.  
and there he is, toned back facing her as he stands near the stove. she exhales with tremendous relief. he is here. he is here.

he hears her; turns to give a wondrous smile. she tries to smile back. it aches her teeth.  
she approaches him, wraps her arms around his middles. she can feel muscle and almost laughs: he is ever so above average. she drops feather-light kisses on his shoulders and back. everything hurts. softness hurts.

some time later, when they've finished their breakfast, she goes to look out the window and -  
"snow!" she calls, forgetting who she is for a second. she loves snow, always has, since the moment he introduced it to her with his warm hands on her back and his breath on her lips. her childlike enthusiasm makes him laugh, until she says: "come on, get dressed! we're going outside to the snow!"  
"we're - what?"  
"what did you think, silly?" she cackles. "that we'd sit here and watch it from inside? absolutely not. now come on!"  
and, despite his grumbling, they are soon outside, snow falling upon them softly, like petals, like tears.

she pulls him closer, one hand in his and one on his shoulder and asks, "dance with me."  
it's more like swaying, but oh, well. that's what humans do.

he accepts, smiling at her softly, like she is something so precious he hardly understands how he, of all people, deserves to hold her. her gentleness and innocence truly awake something in him that he has never felt before.

a hand around her waist, fingers spread on her back. just like before. diana smiles woefully. almost like before.  
"what do people do when there isn't a war?" she murmurs, lacking any ability to put a stop to the words as they flow from her mouth like a river.  
"they get a job, get married, have kids." a voice replies from above her. looking up at him, she is a deer in headlights. his gaze is focused on something in the distance, brows furrowed. he doesn't look quite aware of everything around him. and yet, she is unable to stop herself once again:  
"what is that like?" comes a whisper. and when he answers, something behind those blue, blue eyes clicks. "I don't know."  
and then he grabs her by the back of the neck and kisses her, urgent, gentle, desperate. like they're in the war and each moment is precious and hard and almost the last, could be the last.  
the way it used to be.

"steve?" she asks, more hopeful than ever.  
"diana." he replies, voice like glass, fragile, cracking.

"is it - could it -" she chokes out, trying to ask; her eyes wide, fingers ghosting on his neck, jawline, cheek.  
"it's me - it's me."

his eyes sparkle, his breaths shallow and quick. he looks like he cannot decide whether he should laugh or cry. a tear gleams as it slides down her cheek.  
"your last words," she exhales, hardly. it feels as though breathing is a language she was never taught. now, for the first time in all her life, it seems impossible. she clings to his shirt, "your last words, steve, what were they?"  
he stares at her, so achingly open, like he was cut with a knife. brushing a stray curl from her temple, he says: "I wish we had more time. I love you."

and, right then and there, breathless and wet with falling snow, she falls into his chest, and he holds her, and they both weep.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u guys enjoyed this thing i threw together !! p pleased w/ it tbh,,, if you enjoyed and wanna let me know pls leave kudos and/or comment thanks ly


End file.
